


Number

by stagsableye



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bank Robbery, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Explicit Language, Gun Violence, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, Hostage Situations, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 17:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagsableye/pseuds/stagsableye
Summary: “Trapped in a bank during a robbery AU.”murdergatsby said: “Will and Hannibal get trapped/held hostage while Mason and his boys rob a bank. Bonus points if Will is a teller.”





	Number

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murdergatsby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/gifts).



> What a wild thing this will be! Tried to tie in as many canon characters as I could to make it a memorable AU. I loved the idea since my friend murdergatsby mentioned it, and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity.
> 
> This is not beta-read. Sorry if there are mistakes.
> 
> Bon appétit.

“You’re really starting this again?”

“What? Starting what?” Price plucked open a bag of sour gummy worms, expression not unlike that of a puppy-dog. All soft eyes and innocence directed at his boyfriend.

Boyfriend? Maybe. Jimmy Price and Brian “The Teller” Zeller were always a complicated thing. The rest of the Katz Bank staff always had under-the-table bets going about how long it’ll take them to _really_ hook up. By the looks of things, Beverly Katz might be right on the money. Which—as the owner of the bank and subsequently the likely winner of a few hundred bucks in the betting pool—will no doubt have everyone in a gripe.

As if drawn in by the crinkle of the candy bag, like a moth to the flame, Beverly herself slid into the break room. She snagged two pieces of the gummy worms from Price’s hands, while he was distracted in one of his little sassy conversations with Zeller. Something or the other about “recovering alcoholics craving sugar.”

Gummy worm hanging from her red-painted lips, Beverly then set her sights on the grumpy teller across the room.

That morning, Will Graham seemed to be less accommodating of the “Preller” banter than usual, which…isn't saying much. He never thought of it as a bad work environment, even if the loudness grated on his nerves. Nice and easy to work in this setting. But then again, these aren't the type of people with whom he’d casually socialize. They're humans, not dogs, and that alone is enough to make Will lose interest almost entirely.

“We-ell. Don't you look extra cloud-of-gloom-and-doom today,” Beverly smacked her lips around the sour sugar, offering a worm to Will.

He waved it away, lips attached to the rim of his disposable coffee cup. Bev leaned against the countertop beside him, but Will didn't look up. “The coffee tastes like shit.”

He looked like shit. The nightmares had been severe last night, and he'd been awake for most of the morning hours, drenched in clammy sweat. His body felt heavy since then, his shoulders draped down under the pressure of dead eyes, of dead girls, all staring at him from within thickets of antlers. A shower before work couldn't wash the dark, sallow skin from beneath his eyes, but it did ease his unruly brown curls and his night-sweat. Didn't make him feel any more clean, though. Will peered into the cup, finding a sad camaraderie in the bitter brew.

“The coffee always tastes like shit. You look like shit. Part of the job description, is it?”

Will cracked a faint smile, straight away reminded of why Bev’s such a good friend. Always the right stab of odd humour at the right time, between them.

“Thanks. You know, you _could_ buy better coffee,” said Will, blue gaze tracing a line of dust between linoleum floor tiles. He scuffed at it with the side of his shoe.

“You know, you _could_ just tell me what's really bugging at you,” Bev countered, perfectly angelic smile on her face.

“Touché.” With a small shrug, Will tilted his head back and downed the rest of the lukewarm coffee. He’ll be back later for a hotter refill. Three cups a day is ideal for an empath.

“I'm going to go get started for the day,” Will murmurs at Bev, dumping his cup in the wastebin. He gave her a brief look which extended to the direction of the chattering Price and Zeller nearby, and then walked off down the hall.

Will Graham sunk into his chair and heaved a sigh as his wrists came down to rest atop the wooden desk. Faster he could slip into mindless work, the faster the day would pass. As the computer screen slowly flickered to life, he took a moment to stare out over high countertops and across the empty bank floor. Just shy of eight AM, and the sun was sharp, cutting through half-shaded glass windows pasted up with their newest poster promotions. All shit, when Will really thought about it. The reason he had this job in the first place was to keep chin barely bobbing above the killer waves of interest rates. Grunt police work doesn't pay, even with a criminology degree. That work isn't even good for him out in the field. Maybe one day he'd give it up in earnest. He could have a shitty car, a tiring job, but at least his own credit wouldn't be an utter disaster, and he could afford to feed himself and the dogs. Silver linings?

Another sigh, and he's clicked computer mouse, tapped fingertips against keyboard, and signed into his workspace. He pulled up a transaction list spreadsheet from the day before, and looked at the ledger. The little digital calendar read “July 10” and was full of empty rows. Except for one name–

“Hey, Graham, isn't today _the_ _day_?” Zeller drawled around a gummy worm hanging at the corner of his mouth. As Zell clacked over to his own workspace beside Will, he wore a huge grin on his stubbly cheeks.

Will rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. The tenth. It's your time of the month, buddy,” Price snorted from behind, also creeping in to follow the lead and get to work in opening the bank.

Zeller and Price both sniggered, and Will was just about to snap open his lips with a tired, snarky reply when Beverly stepped up for him. “Awh, leave him alone, guys.”

It didn't stop Preller from wearing expressions of boyish glee at their lesser-happy Graham-friend. And just when Will thought he was getting a break from the headache and the strange anticipation building in his belly, Bev goes on: “Will can't help it that he's being severely crushed on. Who wouldn't want to date him? He's handsome, even if he is grumpier than my grandmother.”

In vain, Will tried to redirect his brain from flooding his cheeks and ears with pink shame. It didn't work. He gently shoved away Bev’s hand ruffling at his unruly hair.

“He's not interested,” Will said, the sound no more than a scoff below his breath.

“Not interested?” Bev looked shellshocked, bracing a hand against Will’s desk. Price and Zeller might as well have been avidly eating the gummy candy like popcorn, watching on like a pair of perked meerkats.

“Dude, I've known Dr. Lecter for years. And he's never looked half a bit really interested in anything until you started working here,” Bev snorted. “Totally has the hots for you.”

Will didn't want to think too deeply into any of it. Never did. Easier to sweep under the rug any attempts at it and simply move on, continue to feed the idea that Will Graham is simply not prime relationship material. He’d envisioned Dr. Lecter’s handsome angular face smiling in kindness, those arrow-bow lips firm in kissing him. Ever the kind customer visiting at the tenth of every month, grown into something more for Will. But then Will thought about that same face staring down at him like he's a monster in the night. That face watching him grow sickly with flop-sweat and screaming with anxiety. How that face would pity him, and show disinterest over time. …Nope. Definitely not worth fussing over, no matter how true and obvious it is that Dr. Lecter had set sights on him. Besides, the sheer amount of money Dr. Lecter invested and deposited was always far beyond Will’s paygrade or comprehension, the two of them might as well have been living in totally different worlds.

“Why don't you ask him for his number today?” Zeller’s crisp voice broke Will’s reverie. If Will had ever heard a bad idea, that was it.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I'll ask him for you,” chimed Price.

“No, you _won't_ ,” Will snipped. He didn't even look up from his computer screen that time, returning somberly to opening accounts for the day ahead. He could deal with Price. He could deal with Zeller. He could deal with Preller as one. But he could not deal with Preller on an eight AM gummy worm sugar high.

Bev backed off, and silently waved away Price and Zeller and both sets of their raised brows. Graham the Grump was always in a mood, but it seemed to be even worse this time. A heave of collective sighs, and everybody fell into the monotony of the day.

It was two hours down the line when Will took his second cup of coffee. He’d put it on his desk and watched the steam rise in a ghostly tendril, counting the seconds for the very tip of it to evaporate into nothing but thin air. His computer worked away at authorizing a transfer for a client in the meanwhile.

“Good morning, Mr. Graham.” Will gave a start, and nearly spilled his coffee all over the damn keyboard. He knew that accented voice more than he’d like to admit to himself.

“H-Hi,” Will stuttered lamely, trying to quell his sudden raging pulse at the scare. He looked up to see those angular cheeks come alive from his thoughts. It'd be a lie to say that Will hadn't been thinking of the sharp-dressed man since Preller mentioned him, and Beverly all but (once again) confirmed that the man is very much interested in him.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter stared down at Will with a polite smile on his face, expression as neat as his burgundy pocket-square. The suit of the day was a deep navy plaid, a maroon red perfectly matching the way the fluorescent light reflected in his eyes. A far cry from the basic blue flannel shirt and khaki slacks Will wore.

Hannibal seemed to observe Will with a quaint twitch of his lips. Amusement, of course. Will can't help but feel more grumpy because of it. A strange agitation bubbled over in a panic to replace the happiness at seeing this mysterious doctor like clockwork again.

“Morning, Dr. Lecter,” Will stared at a tiny wrinkle on Hannibal’s forehead, and spoke more clearly once the embarrassing initial surprise had passed. He could also feel two sets of curious eyes staring sharply into the back of his head from the other workspaces, which he tried very hard to ignore.

Also like clockwork was the next sentence, one Hannibal had since repeated many times now: “Please, call me Hannibal.”

Will’s smiled a vague, awkward smile, and nodded. His curls waved with the movement, and Hannibal’s eyes reflected warmth.

No matter how many times it's been said, Will can't bring himself to that first-name basis. He's afraid it might mean something. When he's always so used to being as distant and impersonal with others, how can he welcome in this man out of his league, a customer at the bank? For one, Will’s surprised Beverly hasn't said anything negative about her regular customer eyeing up one of her employees. Or vice versa, because Will’s certainly started to stare.

“How are you today?” Will asked, politeness and pink-tipped ears both bordering on the line of tawdry.

“I'm all right, thank you,” Hannibal smiled. “You look a bit exhausted today, if you don't mind my saying.”

“Yeah… Yes, I am. Busy last night. Didn't sleep so much.” A boldfaced lie. Will had been trying to sleep for the entire night. His mind wasn't having it.

Hannibal looked at Will then, and saw a very beautiful man. As if it were the very first time he'd seen him. In the city centre of Baltimore, the Katz Bank had always been convenient and professional for Hannibal’s financial needs. A loyal customer of the bank for over ten years now, he had dealt with plenty of staff, seen many of them come and go. One rude ex-employee in particular tasted just lovely smoked in hickory, glazed with rosemary and honey, and plated with asparagus over creamy risotto.

To the day Will Graham started working at Katz Bank, Hannibal hadn't been prominent on the whole idea of dating and love. Not that he'd been devoid of it or cynical of it, but other peculiar passions of his tended to keep him from it. But Will…the first look at his messy curls and gruff demeanor had thrown Hannibal for a loop. That was nearly two years ago. Today, even when he stood before Will and spoke his greeting as usual, Hannibal couldn't know what happy anticipation he feels in his chest, is just as foreign to, and yet prominent in, Will Graham as well.

Hannibal’s smile broadened, and he thought of wishing Will a better day and night of full sleep ahead. Uncharacteristically, he hesitated on those words, and took the brief pause to simply admire the softness of Will’s eyes in spite of his clear exhaustion.

“I hope that you will–”

The front entrance of the bank, double doors of heavy tempered glass and steel, slammed open and cut the words right from Hannibal’s mouth. He, much like everyone else on the banking floor, whipped their heads in the direction of the jarring noise. Beverly emerged with a jolt of shock from her office just behind the work desks.

“Here comes the man of the Riz, baby!” A scrunch-faced, bespectacled male announced, strolling in with the tail of his black trenchcoat flying behind him. Like something right out of the movies. Except a thousand times more alarming, because that's very real-life, and nobody had expected him to be holding a very menacing assault rifle propped against hip.

Flanked by two other armed, burly men who frame the door to the bank with chains in hand to barricade, the “leader” walked up and began pointing the end of his weapon with a wicked laugh and a voice sleazy as grime. “Hands in the air! Don't wave ‘em, though, like ya’ just don't care.”

All work instantly ceased. With a strangled few noises and panic about to break, patrons dove behind desks and counters. All trembling hands in sight flew upwards in unison, including those of Will who’d bolted to his feet in the surprise, and Hannibal who stood beside him. Price and Zeller were dead silent and wide-eyed, still sitting at their desks. Everything and everyone, in those few seconds, went utterly still.

…Almost everyone, that is. Beverly Katz fearlessly came roaring out with hellish fury. The wave of her dark hair like a curtain of doom. In spite of a gun being pointed at her, she still walked right up and past the desks. Effectively toward the man brandishing weapon at her and her customers and employees. Brave, too-brazen Bev.

“Hey! Get the fuck out of here!” She roared, not a speck of fear on her face. Will knows it's there somewhere—he can feel it—but knows she’ll never let it show. He wished to stop her, to speak to her, or grab her arm, or something. Pull her out of the line of fire. Tell her that this isn't a good idea. He'd been trained for this. Will knows how to talk this down. But, before he can step up…

“Oh, testy girl. I don't like it,” the man lilted, raising his rifle.

“You think this is a joke?” Bev doesn't shy away, gaining anger. “Put down the gun and–!”

_Bam!_

The man pulled the trigger and instantly the room rattled with the deafening force of the shot. Among a loud uproar of shouts and horrified cries from everyone surrounding, Beverly crumpled to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Next two chapters will hopefully be up soon. Needed to build a little suspense to really get this rolling. Oops.
> 
> If you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments. They inspire me and make me smile.
> 
> Also please consider [buying me a coffee for a fic](https://ko-fi.com/murakistags)!


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